


My Fate In Your Hands

by orphan_account



Category: Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Mugging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7941058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Simon is in distress, but no damsel, and Jace is heroic, but no secret ninja. Also there are soulmates, but Jace and Simon aren't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Fate In Your Hands

Simon finds his soulmate when he's six years old.

On his first day of school a redheaded girl with pigtails comes up to him, points at his Batman backpack and turns to show him the red S on yellow on hers.  
"Look," she says, "we match." And that's that.

At least, Simon thinks it is. Thought it was.  
For twelve years he thinks, and he hopes, and he longs, and Clary smiles and hugs him, gives him forehead kisses, accepts him into her life as one of the most important puzzle pieces, assigns him one of the primary colors, because that's the way she functions, and it's so _easy_.

Being Clary's soulmate comes as natural as breathing.  
It gets Simon thinking that this is what it's like. Being in love. Comfortable and pleasant, voice familiar like his own heartbeat, secrets laid bare and movements all synced up.  
It works, it has Simon convinced they're going to end up together.

Then Clary goes to the Brooklyn Academy of Arts and comes back with a girlfriend.

Simon doesn't cry.  
He shakes Maia's hand and tells himself he'll break down later. When he's alone.  
He goes home that night and the tears don't come, his stomach in knots, dissolving once he watches enough episodes of f.r.i.e.n.d.s. 

_What's wrong with you,_ his brain whispers. His nails dig into his palm when he makes a fist. _This is the love of your life and all you got is not being able to laugh at Ross's freakishly white teeth?_  
He puts on The One With Unagi.

"You think you guys are getting serious?" he asks Clary and when she blushes something lights up beneath his breastbone, so clear and warm he's sure Clary can feel it.

Nothing really changes after that.  
Clary's hand still fits into his like they were made for each other, the words still stand out against his skin with an intensity that makes it hard to believe they'll ever fade and when they lie on Simon's bed, elbows brushing, they can still pretend like they can read each other's thoughts. Really the only thing that's changed is that Simon now has two girls who can kick his ass in Mario Kart.

"I hate this game," he announces for the fifth time that evening and throws his controller onto Maia's stomach who has her head thrown back, overjoyed by the fact that she beat him with one eye closed. Literally.

Simon gets up and brushes the crumbs off his shirt.  
"You're going?" Clary asks, looking up from where she's choosing the next route.  
"You two haven't had time to yourselves for two weeks." He flicks a piece of popcorn into Clary's hair. "I'd rather go before I'm turned into an involuntary voyeur."  
Clary rolls her eyes. "Simon, it's o-"  
"Get out of here," Maia says and throws his jacket after him.

Hands in his pockets, headphones on and his head bobbing to the beat he doesn't see them coming.  
He's backed against the wall before he knows it, the glint of metal painfully apparent in his peripheral vision.  
"Um," he gets out when he looks up into two pairs of hard eyes, his brain unhelpfully supplying him with all kinds of badass one-liners that would only be useful if he actually knew one thing more than precisely zero about self defense.

"We just want your money," one of them says and he sounds so calm that bile rises up in Simon's stomach. They don't look like they just want his money. His fingers shake when he reaches for his wallet, his headphones shattered on the ground from the quick assault.

"Hey!"

Simon doesn't dare turn around. He keeps his gaze fixed on the knife that isn't anywhere close to his body, and yet still too close for comfort.  
One of the attackers, though, wrenches his eyes away, looking at the figure stepping out of the dark. Literally.  
The traiterous corner of his brain informs Simon that he should be happy about this Hollywood moment.

He'd run, but the guy with the knife isn't as easily distracted as his companion. In fact, he snorts when he hears the interloper, self confident in a flat sort of way. "Walk away." 

"Cocky _and_ straight to the point. A guy after my own taste," Simon's savior-or-possible-doom takes another two steps forward. It doesn't look like he's even fazed, but the blue eyes under a blond mop of hair are blazing with intense focus.  
There's a ruffle of clothes when both of the goons are turning to face savior guy.

"You think you're funny?" knife owner inquires, moving closer to Simon just by an inch. Savior guy squints.  
"I pride myself on being many things. Funny is just the beginning." Another step forward, seeming like he has no care in the world. Simon shrinks against the house wall as much as he can. If he could just get enough room to run. Savior guy's eyes flit over to him, staying there with an unbelievable calm, that kind of makes Simon want to find the strength to knock one of these guys out in a surprise twist. His life rarely ends up being like Hollywood, though. It's sad.

"I don't think you want to discover anymore," savior guy continues, pulling his hands out of the pockets of his coat.  
"This is ridiculous." Knife owner gestures to not-knife owner impatiently. "Deal with him."

For a split second Simon thinks savior guy is _winking_ at him, before he moves faster than should be humanly possible and twists not-knife owner's arm in a move that Simon probably couldn't master with twenty years of practice.  
His brain barely has the time to react to knife owner moving closer right now, allowing him to give into his impulse to move to his covered side, where savior guy is finishing off not-knife owner with a vicious elbow to the face.

Before Simon has time to process that he's being rescued by a real life 007, probably, who takes walks alone in New York at night, there's a flurry of blond hair right in front of his face, a sharp turn, a kick and the knife clattering on the ground, falling directly before Simon's feet.  
Simon can't look away from it, until there's a crunch and a groan and a long drawn _"Fuck you."_ He drags his eyes up slowly, savior guy pushing his hair out of his eyes before he looks at Simon with heat.

"Well, that was fun," he says. "We should not do this again. Your self-preservation instincts are terrible."  
Simon huffs, because his self-preservation instincts really are terrible. "Excuse me, Captain America. Shouldn't you be in costume when you pull stuff like this?" 

Captain America frowns. "I have no idea what you're talking about."  
"Captain America? You know, superhero, big, blond, and all-American? Leader of the Avengers in most adaptions? His face was plastered all over the city just a few months ago when his third movie came out?" More frowning. Simon thinks there might be some faking involved. "Oh come on, what hole did you just crawl out of after a hundred years of sleep?"  
"Do you always talk like this?" Captain America asks and Simon almost, _almost_ laughs, because this is a really fucking bizarre situation and he thinks it's safe to say that he almost just _died_. 

"Almost always," he replies instead of saying either of those things, but doesn't actually succeed in keeping the hysteric note out of his voice. "Especially when there are two men twice my size lying on the ground next to me because they've been rendered unconscious by some secret ninja who just happened to come by when I was being mugged."  
"Breathe," the secret ninja says and Simon does. "I'm not a secret ninja." 

Simon snorts, which does nothing for his lungs who are screaming at him to breathe regularly. "Oh yeah? Then how the hell did you just pull that off?"  
He looks at him with his head tilted to one side, his hands back in his pockets. "I started training really, really early."  
"That doesn't actually debunk the ninja theory," Simon points out. The guy's eyes aren't actually blue, he notices. There's brown in his left iris, drawing attention. Simon wonders if this guy's friends are ever able to look away from his eyes. 

But then his whole body moves when he shrugs and his mouth curves upwards in a chuckle. As it happens, the guy's mouth is also plenty distracting.  
"Well, then I guess you'll just have to trust me."

Absently, Simon slides his fingers over his left wrist. _Look, we match._  
He regards the man in front of him, considers the swooping sensation in his stomach.

"So, if it's not Captain America, what _is_ your name?"


End file.
